100 books like Golem

I will remain forever astonished at the epic feat of world-building in The Arrival. It thoroughly pulls me into an immersive experience where I am learning along with the main character how to navigate the new world into which he has immigrated. As he learns, we learn. I find myself so emotionally involved with his success in his hopeful new reality. The art is amazingly detailed and conveys the complex and richly visual world, yet also sets a strong emotional tone that brings us into the action.

While Spring Story is the first book in Jill Barklem’s Brambly Hedge series, all eight of them are bursting with sumptuous, hyper-detailed illustrations of a pastoral mouse society in the English countryside. Barklem’s watercolors are jam-packed (literally – so many jars of jam) with mouth-watering baked goods, flowers, and trees that any gardener would envy, and one of my favorite illustration techniques ever – the cutaway – to show the layout of the mice’s treehouses, flour mill, and other buildings that keep the tight-knit mouse village running smoothly. If you've ever salivated over the feasts of Redwall but been less-than-enthusiastic about the possibility of a weasel massacre, let the ever-sunny Spring Story scratch that itch in full, vibrant color.

Another first book in a consistently-lovely series, Dinotopia delivers on exactly what its title promises: a lush utopia full of immaculately rendered dinosaurs (and their costumed human companions!) It’s no surprise that the breathtaking scenery of Dinotopia feels so real and immersive; author-illustrator James Gurney previously illustrated reconstructions of ancient civilizations for National Geographic. His illustrations pack so much worldbuilding into such a small space; from the actually-translatable dinosaur footprint language on all the signage to the consideration of the minutiae of Dinotopian life (where and how do sentient dinosaurs poop?), it’s no wonder this travelogue-style book has swept away both adults and children alike.

Richard Scarry books are nostalgic gold. There’s so much going on on every page, and I remember it all like it was yesterday (which it probably was, because half of the illustrations are on Twitter as memes).

The little vignettes cover all the traditional kids’ book themes—firemen, policemen, ship voyages, road construction—but then go further. Everyone is a Worker talks about how money flows through the economy, and Wood & How We Use It discusses a supply chain, from raw materials to production and manufacturing to transportation (albeit in grossly unrealistic trucks). 

I read somewhere that Franz Kafka would laugh so loud when writing his stories that he woke up his neighbors. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I get it. It’s not what is commonly thought of when someone talks about Kafka’s stories. I mean, his name has come to mean a certain style. “Kafkaesque” is used to describe stories that are absurd, nightmarish, offensive, and heavy with bureaucratic pretentiousness and deceit.

Where is the humor? Oh, it’s there. I think sometimes readers get caught up in the horror and bizarreness of it all that they miss the subtle, absurdist, dark, and very dry humor dripping in all these stories in this collection.

There are several books I could recommend written by adults who were imprisoned as children in Terezin during the war, but this one stands out because of its artwork interspersed with factual accounts of daily life. Indeed, it’s the factual perspective she takes in her descriptions that makes them so heart-wrenching. Her map was my primary tool in writing descriptions of the camp, and her artwork, imitating her writing style, comes across as stark and factual. Written as a diary, not a novel, I cried at the cruelty with which her life unfurled before her. At the same time, however, she manages to capture the beauty of being a child, full of hope and promise. That balance makes the book a jewel.

In 1950, McCarthy-ite red-baiting is at its height and communists are being hunted across America. When a US government official is accused of being a spy by the House Un-American Activities Committee, he abandons his family to flee the country. His apparent defection seems to confirm the allegations that he was a Soviet Bloc spy. Almost 20 years later, his son goes behind the Iron Curtain for a painful reunion.  Kanon’s novel is written as a thriller, yet it captures the paranoia of America in the early Cold War, the drabness of Soviet-occupied Prague, and explores profound issues of love and betrayal. 

This is a brilliant urban fantasy about 17-year-old Karou, a spunky blue-haired teenager who lives with a foot in two worlds – our own, and one inhabited by all manner of monsters, good and mad. Amidst the wreckage of an ongoing war, Karou finds love with the angelic Akiva, the two fast becoming a kind of Romeo & Juliet in this sophisticated tale full of mythology and magic, which moves seamlessly from the streets of Prague to an intricate otherworld of the author’s own creation, without missing a step. It’s epic and swoony, and utterly unputdownable! 

I’m deeply affected by the poetic, haunted quest of a Korean adoptee who seeks his place in the world, shifting back and forth in time— Tee’s present in a Massachusetts rehab facility with his time in Prague. 

I respond to how present the awareness of being other is, while I can occasionally pretend to forget mine. I share the question about the past.

Tormented about being an adoptee, Tee left his family behind after facing the tragedy of an uncle’s suicide and a disturbing revelation from his father. In Prague, he has newfound happiness interrupted by a forced evacuation because of an epic flood that comes every 100 years.

Tee decides to remain with his lover: “If the water did rise and cut them off from the rest of Prague, they would be unreachable,” Tee thinks, “even from his pasts.”

Women rarely feature as central figures in most works about Prague. In this book, Iggers introduces us to an array of fascinating female writers, activists, powerful ladies of society, and survivors who have lived in Prague and its environs over the past two hundred years. Each chapter includes a brief introduction and excerpts from these women’s writings, such as diaries, letters, and newspaper articles. The reader can thus hear these women’s voices and feel transported to a different moment in history. Some entries are hard to read, such as Milada Horáková’s farewell letter to her teenage daughter, written on June 23, 1950. The lead defendant in Communist Czechoslovakia’s first public show trial, Horáková was executed three days later. Wilma Iggers is a Czechoslovak native who escaped to Canada after the Nazis invaded her country in 1938, which only enhances the perspectives that she brings to these women’s lives.